Submission Forty-Five

"There are so many beautiful andrea gibson poems that give me hope, like this one." ~Submitted by Ashlee Gray


hopefully this will give people who have been through sexual assault or any sort of harsh relationship situation some hope:

This Is Me Not Hiding
At the lowest point in my life I was screaming at you to hit me.
I was screaming at you to hit me in defense of my rapist.
Everything was still spinning from that night so I couldn't place the blame straight.
I wanted you to hit me because it would make up for all the things I had no control over.
Because I let everyone tell me I deserved it. Because you were itching for revenge.
And because I would hit you too and it would make up for having not have been able to fight back.

But you didn't hit me, you hit him.
With a crowd circling around like they had never seen such action.
And you didn't do it for me, but for my offenders girlfriend (let me tell you I was not his first victim).
And for yourself, because the thought of me sleeping with someone else
meant that we would not be getting back together and meant that you really didn't own me.
It meant a lot fucking more than that but you never cared to ask.
No one asked. No one asked me if I said no. No one asked me if I was ok.
I didn't know the answer to the last one anyways.
I couldn't think.
Not with you screaming at me through your phone, calling me out
to meet you, if I dared.
Not with the hateful messages flooding my inbox.
I couldn't feel anything.
Until that crowd had been crowded around me.
Until I was screaming at you to hit me.
Until I realized this was happening to me.

How soon "I love you" can be replaced with "I hate you" is more than disturbing.

And when you moved the fight away from me,
I crawled under that bridge where homeless people go to shoot up and girls go to give head.
I crawled under that bridge to die like a dog.
Like a dog with no thumbs to pull the razor blade out of the pencil sharpener.
I was so young.

And right on cue you called me, to take back the things you said,
like the impulsive noncommital fucker you are, who can't throw a punch at me with your fists but sure can with a text message.
I decided I must live.I had to survive.
I was too pissed off to die. I had to take this experience and get the hell out of that life.
I had to, one day, tell my story of survival.

A Bellingham poet once advised to sing of your victories. Do not hide. Well this isn't really a song but it's close.
This is the story illistrating where my victory began: under a bridge, covered in tears, ready to live.
And it has ended with me being able to answer that question no one would ask.
"Are you ok?"
Yes. I am.

~Submitted & Written by Ashlee Gray

Submission Forty-Four

"Learning and working with others gives me hope." ~WUU Student

Submission Forty-Three

"Acceptance gives me hope." ~ WWU Student

Submission Forty-Two

One of my own for a change. . .

The track we call life. . .To fall or grasp the hand. . .

Dedicated to my Mummy and her new legs/wheels. . .

What if our reflexes whispered instead of sprung
What if our limbs failed to move when our brain sent the request
What if we could not move for months
What if it hurt to be hugged
What if our whisper fell short
What if hope loomed in the distance but we could not grasp it
What if a mare ran a race to fall
Fall
Fall
Laying on the track
The men walk up
The men walk up deciding between helping or shooting
What if they did a bit a both
Built you up only to shoot
Shoot
Shoot
Could you survive

The thing is
We do
We survive disease
Disease
Disease
When our arms grip the metal bars and we pull ourselves to our feet
You take that first step
Take that first dance
Take that first hand and slide
Slide
Slide
Don't let those men put you in a chair
The electric chair
You killed no one
The life before you is yours
Revamp the chair give it wheels
Let it roll
Roll
Roll
Spray paint the metal
Make it your own
Give it a name
Personify your new legs and
Dance
Then live
Your life

Grasp it
Breath it
Let the heart pound
Pound
Pound
Its yours
Only yours
You can take it
Live it
Let it
Roll it

Then grasp the hand
It will be there
Waiting
Waiting
Waiting

HOPE

~Submitted and written by Kashia Gale

Submission Forty-One

Both images submitted by : Rebecca Truman

Submission Forty

Darkness

The darkness has descended
and threatens to consume me
my passion is gone
it has consumed all of my energy
this monster that comes like a thief
stealing all the loveliness in my life
taking away every hope that I had
he leaves me with nothing but emptiness
I hate him
He comes so secretly and by the time I realize he's there
it's too late
he's already settled in to the middle of my being
propping his feet up on the dreams I once had
littering negativity throughout my mind
until every space is filled with his poison
I must rid myself of him for good
My plans do not include him
he imposes himself onto me
and wills himself back into my life again and again
I must stamp him out and send him back to the grave he came from
all he knows is death and destruction
all he knows is isolation and pain
I long for him to go away and never come back
you are not friend...you are strictly foe.
so be gone!
Oh, if only it were that easy, our lives would be ribbons and butterflies
joy and love,
but we must know sadness to appreciate the joy
we must know pain to appreciate the love
we all walk through the valleys filled with shadows of death
we all pass through those darkened times that push out all the light
the only difference is, we come out of those dark times
with more hope
with more joy
and with more love

Photo & Poem submitted by : Rebecca Truman

Submission Thirty-Nine

"The generations before me offer me hope." ~WWU Student

Submission Thirty-Eight

"Feeling supported and uplifted by those around me gives me hope." ~ WWU Student

Submission Thirty-Seven

"The tenderness of good friends gives me hope." ~ Mare Butterworth

"Nothing bothers me, as long as I'm not hurting you. If I hurt you, tell me." (Statement recently made to Mare by a friend.)

Submission Thirty-Six

To Hope by John Keats
When by my solitary hearth I sit,
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!

Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbidfancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

In the long vista of the years to roll,
Let me not see our country's honour fade:
O let me see our land retain her soul,
Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade.
From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed---
Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,
Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
With the base purple of a court oppress'd,
Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head!

Submitted by Zarayah Israel

Creature of the Stream : Submission Thirty-Five

Man of the forest and
Creature of the stream.
You remind me of a deer running through the woods.
You find a path recognizable only by the animals of the forest
And eat the berries I might have thought was poison.

This is Torrey. Last week he contacted me about a place deep in the woods that he wanted to take me too. Then he added "P.S. I promise not to off you." Well he didn't off me and it was the best representation I have experienced of hope and peace in one place at one time. Wondering through the woods knowing only that at some point we would reach a stream I flew with it and enjoyed the peace that nature had to give me along the way. When we arrived I dropped my bag and felt as if I could dance on the logs and jump through the stream. After I explored for awhile I lay down on a log looking up at the sky, feeling the wind brush against my palms and hearing the grace of the water as it danced on the rocks. I remember thinking to myself that the only element missing was fire. As I breathe in the air and bound forward in my thoughts my mind begins to slow and silence it's self. All I hear are the elements and Torrey's deep hum of melody farther up the stream. Torrey explained the stream as a place where hate could not be felt. "It took all anger and hate out of me, and i thought mabey the world had a chance, if everyone could have moments like these." After going there myself I understand these sentiments completely. Where is your place where hate can not be felt? Where do you go to feel at peace or feel the inspiration that is within?

Submission Thirty-Four

Model: Ashlee Gray

In a conversation I had with Ashlee Gray's mom she stated the the thing that makes her happiest is the happiness of her child.

Submission Thirty-Three

Model: Josephine

"The time that I am able to spend with Friends & Family brings me hope." ~Vasi Graham

Submission Thirty-Two

"The uncertainty of my future gives me hope; it is full of all sorts of possibilities." ~WWU Student

Submission Thirty-One

Model: Kellan Green

"I find hope through beauty and I find beauty wherever I can: in a child's laugh (especially my own), the awesomeness of nature and quite often, through music.

I don't make music, but music that speaks to me can (and has) carry me out of the darkest times. It can pep me up when I'm feeling sleepy, it can mellow me out when I'm feeling hyper. Music is a band-aid for my soul, no matter what condition my soul is in.

I don't create art, but I do try to create beauty and hope by living kindly and attempting to pass along joy and acceptance to the people I interact with." ~Jennifer Lovchik

Submission Thirty

"Sunshine is making me get out of bed this morning." ~Sharon von See

Submission Twenty-Nine

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

By: Emily Dickenson
Submitted by Andrew Shattuck McBride
If you have some time take a look at his marvelous blog: http://andrewsmcbride.wordpress.com/

Hope: Community Forum/Discussion

I am currently planning on having a Community Forum/Discussion on Hope in early to mid September. It will be marvelous. We will be looking at the submissions I have received through this project as well has discussing the things that bring us hope and what hope means to each of us on an individual bases. However, at this point I am still in the planning stages of this event and could use some support to make this happen. If you are interested in helping make this event a reality please contact me at whispersofthewheel@live.com

Much Love,
Kashia

Submission Twenty-Eight

"The lives of our children bring me hope." ~ Crystelle Johnson

I found this movie and thought it fit with Crystelle's submission.

Submission Twenty-Seven

Susanna
by Anne Porter

Nobody in the hospital
Could tell the age
Of the old woman who
Was called Susanna

I knew she spoke some English
And that she was an immigrant
Out of a little country
Trampled by armies

Because she had no visitors
I would stop by to see her
But she was always sleeping

All I could do
Was to get out her comb
And carefully untangle
The tangles in her hair

One day I was beside her
When she woke up
Opening small dark eyes
Of a surprising clearness

She looked at me and said
You want to know the truth?
I answered Yes

She said it's something that
My mother told me

There's not a single inch
Of our whole body
That the Lord does not love

She then went back to sleep.

~Submitted by Jessica Lohafer

Submission Twenty-Six

"Great ideas, it has been said, come into the world as gently as doves. Perhaps then, if we listen attentively, we shall hear amid the uproar of empires and nations, a faint flutter of wings, a gentle stirring of life and hope. Some will say that this hope lies in a nation, others in a person. I believe rather that it is awakened, revived, nourished by millions of solitary individuals whose deeds and works every day negate frontiers and the crudest implications of history. As a result, there shines forth fleetingly the ever-threatened truth that each and every person, on the foundation of his or her own sufferings and joys, builds for all." - Albert Camus (November 7, 1913 to January 4, 1960)

Submitted by Andy McBride

Submission Twenty-Five

Model: Torrey (While not quite a child he does have that look of joy and innocence that is so appealing to many people.)

"Children's Smiles bring me hope." ~ WWU Student

Submission Twenty-Four

"Picture [Hopey Rose] is of a bright rose in a darkened world" ~Created by Wyatt Weaver

"Perseverance gives me hope." ~Wyatt Weaver

Submission Twenty-Three

The Art of Courage.

You will go off into the challenge lands

Armed only with wishbones and harp strings

Where they will be waiting



You will dance the slow yoga of cherry blossom tattoos

Fending off knee jerk war cries

With a parry of lotus petals and satellite moons



They will throw silent earthquakes at you

And your dreams will be made of blood

You will fall, and you will fall

And you will struggle to rise

Before you fall again



They will see this and call you fear

Worse than sin, the viper’s teeth

Of cancer sucking away their morals

They will flay you with whips made of time

Grind empathy into poison needles

And bury them in your skin pointing outward

So those who love you cannot touch you

They will feed you loneliness

You will not be afraid

You will keep your voice inside

The left pocket of your thoughts

Where it can’t be stolen

And you’ll sing to them



The golden underside of a teardrop

Magpies between the rafters at dusk

The song of the last kite flying without strings



This will infuriate them

They will drown you in gunfire

Strap you onto concrete slabs

Inject their hatred into you

And wail crimson razors

As you turn it into music



They will exhaust their tortures on you

And you will die every second

But it will do nothing



When they can do nothing more

They will finally send you home

And when you return

I will meet you halfway



They will be following you

Nineteen paces behind,

Eyes lowered

Begging for mercy


Created by: Spike Daeley